The Resurrection
by Itsygo
Summary: Isabel's death and revival from her soulmate's point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Guardians of Time. The segments of dialogue are unaltered because I dislike deviating from the canon.**

Ethan screams my name, and instantly, knowing something is wrong, I transport them into the Citadel, into a healing room. Isabel is in Ethan's arms; her hands are on her chest, her left one stained with cerise blood. Forcing myself to calm down, I take the lifeless body; it is small and light, and within the iridescent shimmer of the crystalline walls, her pale skin looks luminous. The crimson stain effuses, drowning out the white of her nightshirt. I set her down on the nearest surface, a narrow table. My entire body is trembling, and Ethan notices, but if my trepidation strikes him as odd he does not air the opinion. I poise my shaking hands over Isabel's gripping fingers, trying to loosen them as gently as I can. They are already cold, and the feeling brings tears to my eyes, blinding me as I pull the dagger out of her heart. I press my palms against her wound, against her warm blood.

"Who did this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even. It breaks.

"Marduke, of course! Didn't you see?"

I did not. The room had been darkened and I tell him so. I sense his thoughts, flooding and intertwining and incomprehensible. He speaks, and I understand that he does not realize the gravity of the wound; he is convinced I can heal her.

I turn to him. My tears are falling freely, and he is shocked to see them. I have always been the controlled one, the frigid one. I am used to death. I am accustomed to rejecting bonds of friendship and love. I am good at concealing my emotions, and even better at completely neglecting them. But this girl, this short little thing who has lived less than three percent of my lifetime, she erases all of that.

"Ethan," I say softly. My heart feels like it is being cleaved with every word. "Isabel has a blade in her heart. She is already dead."

"NO!" he screams. "Bring her back!"

His irrational demand has a logical basis; Isabel died out of her body.

"Where is her soul?"

I close my eyes. "Lost."

He is hysterical. "Can I find it and bring it back?"

I look at him, wondering what good it will do to tell him. Her soul is wandering the middle world, a pale hell of fears and memories. She is guided by light, towards a bridge that she must not cross. Running my bloodied hand through my hair, I tell him what I know.

"And when she crosses this bridge, what then?"

"Her mortal body will stop breathing, completing her death," I say flatly. Ethan is beside himself, believing that she can be saved, that he can bring her back. And while Ethan's instinct is not something to be blatantly disregarded, I cannot share his enthusiasm.

"It isn't possible," I explain to him. "Nobody's ever done it before."

Mentally, he attributes my statement to pessimism. "I will do it," he assures me. "Just tell me how. Help me, Arkarian."

My hands fly up in exasperation. His resolution to save Isabel irritates me, his conviction infects my heart, rekindling the desperate hope I had extinguished. Rationally, I know Isabel cannot be saved now, and hoping otherwise is futile and purely masochistic. It will only bring more pain to both of us.

I realize that I am spinning in agitation, and I settle down, feeling idiotic. I am lying to myself. Rationally, I know Isabel _can_ be saved. I am just afraid of further disappointment. My selfishness disgusts me.

"Isabel has an affinity with the light," I say finally, talking fast. "It's part of her gift. Lady Arabella recognized it, that's why she gave her the gift of sight by any kind of light. Isabel will be drawn to the light of this middle world."

"So what are you saying?" He urges. I clarify. I tell him he has hours at the most, but he is unperturbed.

"Ethan," I say wearily, "this land is inhabited by all the middle creatures. Lost souls, souls that don't belong or fit in our mortal world."

"I am not afraid." I know he does not consider my warning, but I let it go; we have little time.

"There's one more thing. Isabel must hear your voice or she won't turn away from the light."

He sees no problem with this – he assures me he will scream if he has to.

"You don't understand," I say through clenched teeth. My voice sounds strained and frenetic to my own ears. "She will only hear the voice of her soul-mate."

"What?" He frowns for a split second, and then the grimace dissolves as he reassuringly thumps my chest. My skin stings, but in this frenzied state I relish the pain. I pick up on his thoughts before he voices them; he thinks he is her soul-mate.

My eyes glide to his very slowly. I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "How do you know?"

He illuminates me on Isabel's childhood infatuation. A part of me wants to block out his words, another part wants to die. His assessment fills me with anger. I probe him with questions, already knowing the answers. He does not love her as anything more than a friend, but he won't rest unless he goes.

I transport him into the middle realm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: It was said in The Key that the outer worlds cannot be viewed from ours. As I don't think the middle realm would be considered one of the outer worlds, I took the liberty of assuming Arkarian could see into it.**

I am supposed to be monitoring Ethan's progress in the middle world, but my eyes keep shifting to Isabel, a burning white figure running lightly through the dreary grey fields toward the bridge that will seal her fate.

I feel as though there is a hand around my heart, and with each of Isabel's footfalls, it squeezes harder. It is a hand of fear, of the clarity with which I see Ethan failing. He is not her soul-mate, although why I am so certain of this I do not know.

I want to believe I am the one. I love this girl, this tiny dynamo who glows with courage and intrepidity. It is completely ridiculous; I barely know her, I have only just met her weeks ago. Logically, I know this is mere limerence, the obsessive thinking of a romantically deprived, eternally adolescent lunatic. Even if she felt anything for me, our relationship would always remain platonic. And after all, she has feelings for Ethan, harbored since she was a child.

Ethan's cry forces me out of my cogitation, and I refocus on the holographic representation of the middle world. It reminds me of a pencil drawing, completely filled in with shades of gray but for an erased patch in the shape of a human.

Ethan's voice echoes, and I pray that the reason Isabel cannot hear it is the distance between them. He sprints as fast as he can to catch up, when whatever nightmare he sees in his mind suddenly makes him halt. With eyes narrowed in aggravation, I watch him take cover under a boulder. "Get up!" I hiss frantically. "It's not real."

It feels like aeons are passing, and I am delirious with worry and impatience. I flex my fingers, crack my knuckles, scratch my face and neck with both hands. Finally, Ethan straightens up, looking around, taking calming breaths.

He breaks into a run, yelling out Isabel's name, and for a moment I think he succeeded. I am torn in two, feeling tremendous relief and immeasurable sorrow. But then I see she only stopped to smell a flower, a ghost of a blossom. Ethan stops dead in his tracks. I dig my nails into the back of my head, wondering what phantasm has captured him now, when he addresses the invisible horror.

"Marduke, I didn't know you were a lost soul."

I freeze at his words. Marduke is Ethan's worst demon. He has haunted his dreams for a decade. How can Ethan possibly dispel him now?

I look at Isabel, and my chest surges with dread. She is only feet away from the bridge now. Ethan is still conversing with the imaginary traitor, but I am unable to concentrate on his words. Isabel takes another step, and I know what I have to do.

The chamber dissolves around me, and the whole world turns gray.


	3. Chapter 3

As I materialize, the white figure at the foot of the bridge seems to hesitate. I open my mouth soundlessly, but Ethan's cry breaks my concentration, breathless and desperate.

"Isabel!"

He must realize by now that it is in vain, that she cannot hear his voice. He reaches the glimmering structure, still calling out. Isabel takes another step. I breathe out, and her name escapes my lips. Her foot pauses midair.

I come forward, positioning myself beside Ethan. "Isabel," I plead. "Turn around and come home."

For a moment, I see her face. Her eyes widen in surprise, and her lips part. Whether to curl into a smile or a frown or something entirely different, I will never know, because the next moment she is tugged back into the world of the living.

* * *

As her body begins to fade, I shift Ethan and myself back to the Citadel. Isabel stirs, and I wonder how to explain the stain on her nightgown. My hands are shaking.

Isabel's eyes open, and she looks around. "What . . . what happened?"

I glance at Ethan sharply. He understands he is not to say anything about what had transpired, even though he disagrees with my strategy.

"What can you remember?" I ask Isabel softly. She sits up, trying to recollect her thoughts. What I read tells me that she recalls nothing of the middle realm. The memories are buried in her brain, subconscious. She starts recounting what happened with Marduke and the knife when her eyes connect with Ethan's and she smiles a smile of hopeful love. "Did you save me, Ethan?"

Ethan looks at me with confusion. Trying to keep a cheerful note in my voice, I confirm this. "He most certainly did, Isabel."

Ethan's eyes widen, but I ignore his thoughts of surprise, and worse than that, pity.

"He is a true hero." I say, more quietly than I intended. Ethan's eyes seek mine, and I look down, doing everything I can to stop the tears from coming.

* * *

Isabel is ready to leave, sitting on the narrow crystal table, when her thoughts focus on the red rims around my eyes. She wonders whether I've been crying. Her concern irritates me, although it is really not her fault. Her head tilts and I perceive that she is looking at me, sensing that I have read her mind.

I force myself to grin. "I was," I tell her. She frowns, jaw hanging open. "Really?"

"Allergies."

Ethan looks confusedly at the two of us, but catches on quickly and remains silent.

"Oh. I could try and heal it if you want," she offers. I am mildly intrigued by the prospect of a healer being able to cure allergies, but of course, to test this, we would need someone actually suffering from one.

"Don't bother yourself. You need your rest. Thank you though."

She shrugs and gets up, but before I can transport her back to her body, she gives Ethan yet another hug. He returns it with discomfort and awkwardness, looking at me over her shoulder. I avert my gaze feeling empty and cheated.


	4. Chapter 4

Ethan wants answers.

And so we talk. About everything from soul-mates to his dead sister to long-gone English nobles to the purpose of the Guard. It takes my mind off Isabel, but as soon as he leaves my pain comes crashing back accompanied by a need to throw up the alcohol imbibed to help me calm down.

I cannot help but feel betrayed. By Isabel or by fate, it really does not matter. I am aware of the fact that I cannot be with her, but her love for Ethan wrecks me nonetheless. Soul-mates are supposed to be attracted to each other, I hear.

I go to a bathroom, a hall of mirrors and mosaic and porcelain, and clutch the edge of a glass countertop for stability. My reflection sneers at me, eyes bloodshot and crazed. The intense blueness of my hair gives my skin a sickly greenish tinge. I wonder what Isabel would think now, if she would still find my pallor and my amethyst irises appealing now that they make me look like the living dead.

I have seen her thoughts, every private pulse of boldness that crossed her mind in front of me. She finds my eyes and hair exotic, my face beautiful, my body fit and sensuous. Oh, she thinks about me, the gentlest and most pleasant of meditations. She believes I am kind and wise, a fucking kind wise asexual ageless mystic. It is Ethan who she loves, her hero and her mentor, savior and protector. No strand of blue or flash of violet can compete against that.

My eyes hurt even though the light is relatively dim. The urge to vomit is gone, and I contemplate drinking some more. After all, I have not acted like myself the entire night, so why start now? A bottle appears in my hand, invoked almost unconsciously, and I stare at the amber liquid in bemusement. This is stupid.

I sigh, straightening up, and send the liquor back to the Citadel's bar. My fingers are covered with droplets of condensation from the chilled glass, and the largest globule rolls down my palm, turning my attention to the blood dried on it. The blood from the heart of my soul-mate. With this morbid notion circling in my head, I sit down.

The floor is cool and uncomfortable, but I don't move. A strange languor has taken over my body. My anguish resolves into apathy, my inebriety into a dull headache. I am forcing myself to accept that it is utterly irrelevant who Isabel has feelings for as she can't be with me either way; my mind agrees completely and I don't give my heart a say, so that is settled. I sink to the tessellated floor, pressing my burning forehead against a cold hand. Trusting the Citadel will hide this room from the rest of the world as long as I am in it, I let myself drift off to sleep.


End file.
